Nobody But Us
by WriteToBeMe92
Summary: Maybe I'm too late. Maybe Chloe's dad stole all her sixteen years and taught her to be scared. I'll undo it. Help her learn to be strong again, and brave. "I'll stay with you no matter how long it takes to prove that people don't always hurt you - don't always give up on you." -Clark. AU. Chlark.
1. Chapter 1 - Chloe

**-Chloe-**

He came down the road in his father's 'stolen' beat-up Ford, sliding left to right on the freshly oiled gravel and skidding to a stop in front of my house. He was driving so fast that I was certain my dad was going to rouse from his drunken stupor and catch me before I could get out of my property.

"Jeez, Kent, you want to wake him up?" I hissed as the six-three farm boy clambered out of the truck and slammed the driver's door shut.

Clark looked up to my second-story window and crunched across the gravel toward me, twirling the keys on his finger.

"He's probably more plastered than the house, Chlo," he joked with a dopey grin. In his normal Clark Kent fashion, I could tell that he was trying to ease the guilt that had been building up inside of me over the course of the past few days. I mean, it's not _every _day that I found myself running away from the place I had called 'home' for the past four years of my life.

I rolled my eyes and pushed myself away from the window ledge.

The zipper on my duffel bag and the clasp on my makeup case were securely closed. The window screen gave me more trouble than usual, but I fiddled with it for barley a minute. _Finally, _it came out of its guide and fell to the ground with a clatter than rend the still night.

"Yeah, and _I'm _the noisy one," Clark muttered.

"If I want your two cents I'll _ask _for it!"

I tossed the duffel down to him, followed by the case. He made a quick run (more like ghosted) to the truch and stashed the items in the back of the cab, then returned to his spot under my window.

"Ready?" I whispered, barely inaudible. Yet I knew that Clark could hear the uncertainty in my voice. My heart raced and my head swam as I took in the space between us. _Relax, Chloe, it's the same drop you've done before. _Not to mention that I've inadvertently placed myself in situations far more dangerous and life-threatening to get the 'scoop of the century'.

"Drop, Chloe," Clark commanded gently, holding his hands out to me.

I took a slow breath and climbed into the window frame. He waited there, below me, that same eager in his eyes he always had. Maybe they were brighter this time. Or maybe it was me; seeing something brighter to come.

"C'mon, Chloe. I'll never drop you."

And I didn't care how utterly _cliché _Clark Kent sounded right then. Because I knew that, despite the situation at hand, he would never let me go. "I know."

I closed my eyes. The swirling in my vision stopped, but my stomach buckled. I swayed a bit, then pushed off. The one-second fall felt like an eternity of stomach-in-my-throat weightlessness, but Clark caught me with such ease. I suppose having a boyfriend that possessed inhuman strength had its perks.

I breathed out the air that had hitched in my throat with a quick _whoosh _as I threw my arms around Clark's neck, burying my face into the crook and placing chaste kisses there.

"_Someone's_ a little excited to see me," Clark quipped half-heartedly, chuckling throatily into my tousled, honey-golden hair while pecking his lips to the top of my head.

I snorted, retracting back just so I could stare into those baby blues that did strange things to my body temperature. "Cockiness doesn't become you, Kent," I told him pointedly.

Clark's eyes met mind, and I allowed myself to drown into their depths for but a few seconds. His tongue flicked out and wet his pink, kewpie-doll lips, a telltale sign that I knew he was about to kiss me.

_But now isn't the time, Chloe…_

"I have to get my chimes, Clark," I reminded him, causing him to check back into reality.

He blinked once, twice, thrice… "I already told you that they're too big to hang from the mirror."

"I know. But I'm _not _leaving them here for him."

Clark set me on my feet, and I dashed up the three steps to the front porch. The chimes were in the corner. They were my mother's and now they were mine. I drug one of the wicker chairs over and repositioned it against the railing, climbed up, and balanced precariously on the edge of the chair. The chimes tingled and greeted me as I reached for them, the dolphins brushing up against the steel rods in the center.

I lifted the chimes off of their hook with one hand and coddled the metal pieces with the other. They made too much noise, but I had them. I stepped down and peered into the living room window. My dad, who had fallen asleep in his recliner (like he did most nights of the week), stinking of whiskey and rot, was no longer in his chair.

I froze, feeling my racing heart plummet into my abdomen, as the chimes crashed to the ground.

"_Shit_," I whispered.

"Chloe?" Clark called from the yard. He came forward and leapt the three porch steps in one stride. "Are you okay?"

My blood rushed in and out of my chest with painful speed. I knelt down and scooped up the chimes into my hands, methodically untangling the thin wire that held the dolphin's rods in place.

"I-I'm okay. Just… He's not in the living room."

The knot wouldn't unravel under my shaking fingers. _Come on. __Please __release._

Clark passed by me and peered into the window, his eyebrows furrowing and his eyes narrowing as he concentrated on the task at hand. "He's staggering down the entryway," Clark spoke in a hushed tone, wrapping his large, calloused hand around my forearm and began tugging me. "Let's get out of–"

Before I was able to straighten up, the porch light came on, bathing us in yellow. We stood as still as statues, as though that would make the light go back off, and make my dad go back to sleep.

The tall, white front door opened. Dad shuffled onto the deck, a nearly empty glass bottle dangling at his side.

"What're you doin', Chloe?" he slurred, squinting at me. My breath came too fast for me to be able to answer. My heart pumped painfuily in short, staggered movements. "What th' hell's he doing here?"

My dad pointed his bottle at Clark. I closed my eyes, willing my dad to just go back inside and pass out. Clark's grip on my forearm tightened, no doubt leaving a pretty little bruise in the aftermath.

"Git off my property, boy, or I'll call th' cops," my dad said through gritted teeth and phlegm-filled throat.

"Don't worry, Mr. Sullivan," Clark bit out through his barred teeth, his jaw clenched tight. "_We're _leaving."

I tumbled forward because Clark was tugging on my arm, but it was hard to move past my father without flinching.

"She isn't going _anywhere _with you," Dad said. He reached out for my other arm, his fingers, like burning tentacles, wrapping around and around my wrist.

"Let go, Dad." My voice was weaker than I wanted it to be. That was always the case around him.

"Let go of her, Mr. Sullivan," Clark stated imploringly, and it was the calmness, the complete practical tone in his voice, that made it so freaking terrifying.

"Hell I won't!" Dad hollered into the night.

I had somehow managed to wriggle my arm from the man's grasp, tumbling backward from the strength of my movement. Clark and I pushed forward, hopping off of the porch and into the overgrown lawn of weeds and grass. _What I wouldn't give if he could just super-speed us out of here…_

But I wouldn't allow Clark to expose his supernatural abilities for my sake.

We were halfway across the yard when the glass bottle hit me square in the side of the head. I could hardly believe he could have such great aim in his state, but there was no doubting his determination to bring me down. The glass didn't break but made a sickening this that I heard twice, once outside my head and once inside.

I fell to my knee with a surprised cry and put my hand to my face. I couldn't see. There was blackness, then there were flashes of red and yellow. I blinked, _hard_; moving my jaw round and round. Clark said something to me, and I felt his calloused hand on my chin, but I couldn't see him through my blurred and flashing vision. My wrist trembled, giving out under my weight. I fell, face-first, into the crabgrass.

Clark left my side, running for the porch. I could hear the two of them, growling and snarling like bears. Usually, Clark Kent was slow to anger. _But not tonight… _I finally rolled over onto my side and took in the scene.

"Clark, don't!" I called out to him, my eyes widening in horror as I watched him strike like a cobra. Clark grabbed him by the neck, and shoved him hard up against the side of the house. I couldn't hear what Clark saying, but I saw actual fear in my father's eyes. And I thought I saw a glint of steel.

The look on Clark's face from this angle shocked me. His usually warm, soft blue eyes flashed like splinteres of hardened steel. His tenger mouth, always so ready to flash me a smile or steal a kiss, was set in a grim line that could cut iron. I swear I could _almost _see flames puffing from his flared nostrils. The overall look was hard and brutal and violent. His was a side of him I had glimpsed only once before… And that was when he was under the influence of the red kryptonite.

When Clark had been drugged out of his mind with that stuff, he was a raging proctor; willing to do whatever was necessary to protect what he considered _his. _And obviously he considered me to be his.

"Why so protective of the little whore, Kent? She putting out for you?" my father called aloud, no doubt wanting to add insult to my injury. I felt a familiar pinch at the back of my eyes, and then the tears sprung forth.

_Wrong thing to say._

In a flash, Clark let of my dad, drew back his arm… And then my dad was on the floor, clutching a bleeding nose, while Clark stood above him, looking so scary it was almost ethereal, rubbing the already-bruising knuckles of his right hand.

"Clark! _Please_! Just leave it!" I cried almost hysterically. My heartbeat was pounding furiously inside of my head.

Dad stumbled to a stand, something dark and rust-colored dribbling down his face, and swung at Clark. Clark ducked, swung back, and soon enough there was a full-out fight breaking out.

I struggled to my feet, tripped and coat my knee in grass stains, and got up again. He would _kill _my dad. He could endure the way the old man treated me even less than I could. "_Clark_!" He answered me by plowing his fist into my father's gut. He connected again, this time his knee with my dad's forehead.

I buckled when a sudden waved of nausea hit me. I watched my dinner fly from my mouth in liquid form, into the grass. I spat, coughed, and gagged, running for porch. My hands shook uncontrollably. My legs hardly carried me. Pain seared through me.

My dad waved his arm backward, reaching for the door; a way to escape. A moment later he was on the ground. Clark kicked his ribs once, twice. He would kill him. And my dad hardly deserved less.

"S-Stop, Clark," I rasped. I had _finally _reached him and grabbed his hand. He spun on me, his eyes lost to me. I stepped back, trembling, needing hi to return to me.

"_Chloe_…"

Clark paused to give my dad one last dirty look, then lifted me into his arms. I curled into his embrace, burying my face into his chest and allowed the hot tears to run freely now, as he carried me across the cross. I tucked my body into itself and pressed my palm to the side of my head.

Clark started to stutter as he suddenly saw himself the way I was seeing him, with familiarity, but the wrong kind.

"Chloe… _Chloe… _I'm never going to hit you. I'm _not _him. I won't be like that. _Ever_, Chloe. God, don't look at me like that. I'm not the monster… I'll never do what he did to you. I _promise._"

I uncurled myself out of my defensive position and pressing my forehead against his shoulder, against his salty neck, sweaty from exertion, inhaling the scent of him, which almost drowned out the disgusting flavor in my mouth. When he set me down next to the truck, I lifted his hands and pressing his bloody knuckles to my cheeks, hoping they marked me like war paint.

"Let's go, Clark."

Clark opened the door for me, and I slid in. I looked to the porch as Clark started the truck, the engine roaring to life, and turned the headlights on. My dad lay on his side, blood dripping from his nose, the sticky red mixing with whiskey and snot, and watched us go.


	2. Chapter 2 - Clark

**-Clark-**

"Chloe, what's that _smell_…?"

"I upchucked on my front lawn," she whimpered pitifully, sniffling as she did so.

"Are you sick?" I squeezed my hands over the steering wheel and twisted the leather cover. I needed this tsunami of energy gone _now, _but the anger hung on like a stray cat you've fed once and it won't stop coming around. "Sh – Chloe, that's a sign of a concussion, isn't it?" I peered over at her once, twice. She seemed tired, leaning against the passenger-side door for support.

"Chlo, hey, don't go to sleep yet, okay?" I was desperate to keep her conscious and reached down to grab a water bottle from its holder and offered it to her. "Here, drink up. But _don't _sleep. I think you're supposed to stay up for awhile."

I stopped watching the road. Chloe swished the water in her mouth, rolled own the window and spat. I reached over and gently pulled her face toward me. I examined her temple, but didn't see too much in the glow of headlights. I rubbed her jaw line with my thumb, and then swore under my breath. The tires of the Ford had hit shoulder gravel. I turned back to the road. Chloe moaned at the swerving motion.

"I'm sorry. Sorry. Just…don't go to sleep yet."

No, she wasn't supposed to sleep. But I wanted her to be as comfortable as possible. I usually always kept a few pillows and an old, tattered quilt in the back of the cab, but Mom had suggested on washing them seeing as how she'd thought that they had started to 'smell' up the truck. _That idea is shot straight to hell… _I'd forgotten to grab them out of the drier the other day when Mom had asked me to, so I didn't have anything to offer Chloe.

Once we'd sped out of the town limits, from the corner of my eye, I noticed Chloe's sudden movement as she scooted over as close to me as she could without her legs touching the stick shift. She straddled it, and then moved over until her thigh was pressed up against mine. She gave a faint yawn while resting her head against my right shoulder.

"Clark Kent – my own personal superhero and body pillow," Chloe mused fondly, sighing with contentment.

"Just relax, Chlo. Give it, maybe, another hour before you go to sleep, though. I'm just going to drive for awhile."

"No, I want to stay up with you all night," she said, smiling a little while peering up at me through her eyelashes. A _forgiving _smile. Guilt had been my new best friend. I shouldn't have attacked Gabe Sullivan like I had. But when I had seen the fear etched across, I couldn't hold myself back anymore – though I knew I should have.

I was just _tired _of seeing her father beat her. Her face was all messed up with the swollen lip and nasty bruise under her right eye. And she could never fight back. She wouldn't hit him back – _ever. _

_Chloe needs me._

"If you insist, Sullivan," I humored her, chortling.

Chloe's light laughter intermingled with mine. It had to hurt her to laugh; her head had to ache and her lip, too. But her smile was absolutely amazing. It always lifted everything. _Even me._

I downshifted as we approached a stop sign at a deserted intersection. Rolled through. There wasn't any time to stop. Who knew what was chasing us.

I wasn't used to running way from my problems… If anything, I had grown quite accustomed to facing them head-on (accreditation for that goes to my father, who had taught me that a 'real man' never runs away). But Chloe wasn't built like me – she didn't have steel-like skin that could deflect her father's harsh fists or super-speed that she could use to outrun his sharp, hate-filled words he'd use to cut her down and belittle her.

She didn't deserve that. _Any of it. _

And yet, she could hold her own. She possessed this quick wit and a feisty, cheeky personality. She was independent, resourceful, and highly intelligent; fiercely loyal to those she loved and eager to help them solve their problems, observe objectively, and offered straightforward, honest advice. She was caring and forgiving, and could never bring herself to stay mad at anyone for long.

Those were just a _few _of the reasons of why I fell in love with my best friend.

I couldn't lose that – lose _her. _One too many times I had let Chloe Sullivan slip through my fingers like miniscule grains of sand.

_Not again._

My gaze flickered down to Chloe once more, flexing and un-flexing my knuckles. They're not sore in the least. They calloused and healed awhile ago. Chloe was nodding off on my shoulder, but I was wondering if I should keep her awake.

She claimed before that she enjoyed sleeping on me – saying something that she wanted to get used to the smell of me, or something along those lines. To sleeping _with _me.

It still amazed me sometimes that, after everything, she was still here. But she stuck by my side; she thought that I was capable of anything.

"Chlo, you shouldn't sleep just yet."

"_Mm-hmm," _she replied sleepily.

I darted furtive glances at her. Checked the rearview mirror. Checked the road just long enough to make sure we were still on it and not heading for some ditch filled with cow manure. I knew Chloe wasn't going to be able to up all night with me. We were two different creatures that way. Even with her beloved caffeine, I could still outdo her in pulling an all-nighter.

"Stay awake a little longer," I repeated. I grabbed her hand and placed a chaste kiss to her knuckles. She smiled tiredly. "Indulge me. Tell me about what kind of journalist you want to be again."

Chloe talked for awhile as I drove. She told me about the Planet, and about how it would be a 'dream come true' to be able to be a field reporter there. About how _accomplished _she'd feel if she were allotted to write top-notch editorials and articles that would be published in the world's best newspaper.

"Can I sleep _now_?" Chloe asked impatiently, and I glanced at the analog clock.

"It's been an hour. Do you think that's long enough?" I asked uncertainly, my brow furrowing into a deep 'v'.

"I think I'll be fine. I mean, I'm not feeling like I'm standing on the edge of a precipice, about to plummet to my death. So…" she trailed off, yawning once more. Chloe always did have a way with words – written and verbal, alike. "Wake me when we get to the state line, okay? I don't want to miss it."

"_Miss what?" _I wanted to ask, but Chloe was out like a light.

I sighed, feeling the corners of my mouth pull upwards slightly at the sight of the snoozing girl curled up to my side. "I'll wake you when we get there," I assured her.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing affiliated with Smallville._

**Author's Note: **_I appreciate the three reviews on the first chapter! :) They really brightened my day, so thank you! And just to clear up some confusion, Clark and Chloe are in high school in this story. Chloe is currently sixteen and Clark is seventeen._

_Please keep the reviews coming! They definitely encourage me! Xx_

_P.S. I'm sorry for any grammatical errors. I did read over it a second time to check for any spelling errors and the like, but I'm only human. I can only notice so many mistakes ;( haha. But if it takes away the enjoyment for the story, please don't hesitate to let me know in a nice manner. Please and thank you! _

_P.P.S Shout-out to The Fallen Sky for an OUT OF THIS WORLD review! Words can't express how blown away I was at reading your review! Thank you for your encouraging words! :D _


	3. Chapter 3 - Chloe

**-Chloe-**

It was beautiful sleeping in Clark's truck. I'd never slept anywhere but in front of my computer at the Torch or in my own bed in my own room. _Unless you count the times I blacked out on my bedroom floor… _But I didn't think of that as sleeping.

It wasn't a deep, constant sleep, because even though my body wanted to rest, my brain didn't. It wanted to be awake with Clark, watching what we were leaving behind. Feeling the touch of his hand on my neck, hearing and _feeling_ his steady, warm breath next to my ear.

Sometimes my body won, and I dozed. I dreamed about lying next to Clark in a way we never had before, feeling the heat of embarrassment mixed with nervous longing as I slept; but other times my brain won and I woke drowsily and ignored the pounding in my head to play with the fairy song of my mother's chimes or to smile at Clark and put my fingers on his cheek. He was handsome to me, in his innocent farm boy way. I'd always thought he was handsome, since the day I had transferred to Smallville High and he was my designated tour guide that first day of seventh grade.

That awkward, tall, lanky kid with the billowy dark-brown hair and navy eyes had my heart the second I'd met him. He didn't treat me like I was some sort of outsider because I didn't exactly fit the bill and had come from a concrete jungle compared to the likes of Smallville. He had welcomed me and my snarky demeanor with open arms and had befriended me when no one else would have.

Clark Kent always saw the _good _in people. He had this ability (no extraterrestrial pun intended) to see what no one else could. So much so that it manifested itself into a willingness to trust others to a fault.

So many times I had been so undeserving of his friendship –what with me always prying into his business that I had no right of knowing. And yet, he forgave me time and time again because he had claimed that it was initially _his _fault due to the fact that he had always kept me at arm's length.

"_I'd never forgive myself if something ever happened to you, Chloe. It's better this way – you not knowing."_

He would use that excuse multiple times when I'd come _so close _to solving the mystery that was Clark Kent. But when the metaphorical blindfold was ripped from his eyes, and he saw just how much his secret was placing a wedge between our friendship, he came clean and told me _everything._

And when he did, it'd felt like this gigantic weight had been lifted off of my chest and I could breathe again. Every piece of the puzzle that I had gathered over time had _finally _seemed to fit together, and it was all because of Clark.

"…Chloe?" His voice was soft, warm, _familiar. _

My forehead was pressed against the cool glass of the passenger side door, and I had been staring blankly out at the darkened scenery for God knows how long. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised that he knew that I was awake. _Probably heard the change in my breathing pattern._

"Chlo, I know you're awake," Clark persisted, reaching over and clasping my left hand in his. "You have been for awhile, actually. Penny for your thoughts?"

"I think you'll need an endless supply of them, then," I muttered, chuckling dryly while tightening my hold on his hand.

Tonight was the black kind of dark, when there is no moon. It extremely hard to see the houses that we were passing every ten minutes or so. But I could see the stars if I leaned forward and looked out the top of the windshield. The stars didn't seem to move, even though we were practically flying down the highway.

There were multitudes of stars in this part of Kansas. They crowded in sympathetically, as though they couldn't bear for any place to be completely deserted. As if alone-ness scared them, too.

"Clark, do you think there will be stars in… Well, _wherever _we're going?" I wondered aloud, peering briefly over at him. Our destination for the moment could be classified as: unknown.

He looked at me for a long time before answering, "Stars are everywhere, Chloe. We won't outrun them."

"But, just say if we _do_…" I insisted, shrugging. My interest was piqued as I thought about what his solution would be.

Clark chuckled bemusedly, looking contemplative at the moment. "If we _do_, then… I'll get you some glow-in-the-dark sticker stars to put on the ceiling, okay?"

While I knew it wouldn't be the same as the twinkling stars that adorned the darkened heavens above, I knew I'd be strangely satisfied with Clark's cheesy (albeit utterly sweet) alternative.

"Sounds good."

I dozed again, dreaming of greenish sticker stars in the sky and a Kansas farm boy with eyes that held a promise of tomorrow.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own Smalliville - otherwise, Chlark would have definitely come out victorious. :)_

**Author's Note: **_I just enjoy writing this story so much. Albeit, it does seem like the chapters are getting smaller. I apologize for that. I'll definitely attempt to make the next one longer! :) _

_I've been re-watching Season 1 of Smallville and so many wonderful memories are coming back to me - so much so that I'm feeling rather nostalgic. But it's all right because it gives me more incentive to write this story! _

_...oh, and I just want to to give y'all a head's up: I won't be able to update on the weekends. The life of a college student... It's not for the faint of hearts, let me tell you. Haha. _

_But until next time, have an awesome week! :) _


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